"Why does she have to spend most of her evenings here ? " the old man demanded of his wife. " How much you women can talk, " was his added admonishment. His wife smiled indulgently. She knew him so well. Seventy five years of married life, and there wasn't a thing about him that she didn't know. Bed ridden, he more so than her, there life was confined to the four walls of their opulent home. The children and grand children, put in their mandatory appearance each morning before hurrying on with their lives. Except for the occasional visit from a long lost relation and the television, which they just saw, for both of them heard little, they didn't have much to look forward to. Except her widowed friends' visits.
"She is our only contact with the world, you know that you look forward to her visits too, " she chided gently. He only snorted in return, but if she didn't come for the next two, three days, he would inevitably ask if all was well with her. So they spent time together, in the evening of their lives, reminiscising about the glory of the old days, and the decadence of the present one. "I saw my husband for the first time, on our marriage night." the old lady would say, looking fondly at him. "See, we've lasted for seventy five years together. Life has been good. " She would smile. "Nowadays, the girls don't want to marry until they are twenty seven !" Her friend would exclaim. "Why my eldest was ten, almost, and my three others born by the time i was that age." her friend would retort. " Can't hold a candle to you girls, either, you were so good looking. " he would put in slyly. "Sorry, are !" he would hurriedly add.
Indeed they had had a long 'innings' together. Together, they were complete. A whole. Each looking to the other, in sickness and in health. Two operations for hip replacement, osteoporosis, diabetes and numerous complications were battled with. Yet, with his wife beside him, he fought back, his will to live stronger than any of his ailments. When he opened his eyes every morning, his eyes would settle on her, sleeping on the bed across the room. Approaching his hundredth birthday, he worried that he would die and then who would look after her. He would voice his concern to all his offspring, pleading with them to "look to your mother" after he died.
Then one day it happened. She died. In her sleep. When he awoke that morning, he found the room full of mourners. When he realised what had happened, he grieved. For days, he was in a daze, a man so bereft, so berieved, he just existed. A shell of his former self. He stopped talking, stopped eating, but death was unmerciful. It passed him by. Slowly he recovered. In turns he would be sad, then strangely joyous, as if a load had been lifted from his head. Maybe, because he didn't have to worry about her anymore.
She came to see him one day. The best friend. Sitting silently, awkwardly, she tried to find the right words of grief, of condolence. Then giving up, his sense of hearing defeating her, she merely clasped his hand, then left. He hardly ever saw her again.
After her visit, he was brooding for some days, unusually quiet.
"I want to marry again." He spoke softly, but all conversation in the room stopped. Looking at his entire family, assembled for his birthday, he repeated his words. At first, a small ripple of laughter went around the room. Then seeing that he was serious, his eldest son went up to him. "Father ? Why ? Are we not family enough ?" he asked. "It's not that. Nothing to do with you. I'm alone. I need a woman. Not that i want babies with her, " was his brave, if foolhardy reply." I just need someone to share my life with." Looking at the shocked faces around the room, his son rose to his feet, clasped his dad's hand for a moment, then said a quiet, "We'll see. Let's call for the cake. "
They looked at him nonplussed. Then gradually, the conversation resumed in the room. They clustered around each other, catching up with each other, discussing their lives with each other. The old man sat in his corner, his little great grand child, looking up at him with great attention, as he slowly fed her bits of his cake. Only the occasional side long glance, by one or the other of his progeny betrayed the storm that had been quelled so adroitly.
"She is our only contact with the world, you know that you look forward to her visits too, " she chided gently. He only snorted in return, but if she didn't come for the next two, three days, he would inevitably ask if all was well with her. So they spent time together, in the evening of their lives, reminiscising about the glory of the old days, and the decadence of the present one. "I saw my husband for the first time, on our marriage night." the old lady would say, looking fondly at him. "See, we've lasted for seventy five years together. Life has been good. " She would smile. "Nowadays, the girls don't want to marry until they are twenty seven !" Her friend would exclaim. "Why my eldest was ten, almost, and my three others born by the time i was that age." her friend would retort. " Can't hold a candle to you girls, either, you were so good looking. " he would put in slyly. "Sorry, are !" he would hurriedly add.
Indeed they had had a long 'innings' together. Together, they were complete. A whole. Each looking to the other, in sickness and in health. Two operations for hip replacement, osteoporosis, diabetes and numerous complications were battled with. Yet, with his wife beside him, he fought back, his will to live stronger than any of his ailments. When he opened his eyes every morning, his eyes would settle on her, sleeping on the bed across the room. Approaching his hundredth birthday, he worried that he would die and then who would look after her. He would voice his concern to all his offspring, pleading with them to "look to your mother" after he died.
Then one day it happened. She died. In her sleep. When he awoke that morning, he found the room full of mourners. When he realised what had happened, he grieved. For days, he was in a daze, a man so bereft, so berieved, he just existed. A shell of his former self. He stopped talking, stopped eating, but death was unmerciful. It passed him by. Slowly he recovered. In turns he would be sad, then strangely joyous, as if a load had been lifted from his head. Maybe, because he didn't have to worry about her anymore.
She came to see him one day. The best friend. Sitting silently, awkwardly, she tried to find the right words of grief, of condolence. Then giving up, his sense of hearing defeating her, she merely clasped his hand, then left. He hardly ever saw her again.
After her visit, he was brooding for some days, unusually quiet.
"I want to marry again." He spoke softly, but all conversation in the room stopped. Looking at his entire family, assembled for his birthday, he repeated his words. At first, a small ripple of laughter went around the room. Then seeing that he was serious, his eldest son went up to him. "Father ? Why ? Are we not family enough ?" he asked. "It's not that. Nothing to do with you. I'm alone. I need a woman. Not that i want babies with her, " was his brave, if foolhardy reply." I just need someone to share my life with." Looking at the shocked faces around the room, his son rose to his feet, clasped his dad's hand for a moment, then said a quiet, "We'll see. Let's call for the cake. "
They looked at him nonplussed. Then gradually, the conversation resumed in the room. They clustered around each other, catching up with each other, discussing their lives with each other. The old man sat in his corner, his little great grand child, looking up at him with great attention, as he slowly fed her bits of his cake. Only the occasional side long glance, by one or the other of his progeny betrayed the storm that had been quelled so adroitly.
cute and powerful!
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